


Glove and Happiness

by dudewheresmytea



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Capsaicin, Consensual Kink, Glove Kink, Gloves, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Sensation Play, Spanking, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 04:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15833445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dudewheresmytea/pseuds/dudewheresmytea
Summary: Gladio humorously (and lovingly) narrates how he and Ignis integrated a couple of new elements into their sex life.





	Glove and Happiness

**Author's Note:**

> Contains pre-contracted or in-fic contracted consensual kink dynamics. About 7/8ths of the way through I decided to change the tense. I went over it several times but if you spot any mistakes pertaining to that, you'll know why ;) (and yes the title was inspired by the Al Green song Love and Happiness. It's one of my favorites!).

It was only a bit past nine am but I had been up since a quarter to six. I wanted to get in a run and a shower before banging out a couple of errands. I like to get all that crap out of the way early to beat the crowds and so I have the rest of the day free. It looks like my efforts had brought good karma. I received a text from Iggy about five minutes ago.

_Please meet me at the café at 10:15._

We’ve been dating for nearly a year now, but my stomach still does one of those little flips whenever I hear from him or see him in the flesh. I just love him _so fucking much_. I’ve never loved anyone (aside from mom, dad, and Iris) with this much vigor, and even though it’s a bit scary, I am completely basking in this feeling.

I wondered what kind of gloves he’s going to be wearing today.

Yeah, I know that might seem random as hell, but you see, Iggy has this thing he does... it’s really kind of hot. He first started doing it nonchalantly but I soon noticed a pattern. I tried to ignore it at first but it kept nagging at my mind, so I straight-out asked about him about it one day. He initially seemed embarrassed because I guess it was just something that he was doing on the down low for his own pleasure, not expecting me to catch on, but soon after it became this thing he would do for our mutual enjoyment. Ever since, he said it’s much better this way and I honestly think it’s one of the hottest fucking things someone could do.

After he had admitted his little secret to me, he ended up showing me his collection. He brought me over to his apartment one night and guided me into his bedroom. We then stood before his dresser for what felt like forever, him smirking at me like a fiend. I had no idea what he was on to because I had asked him about the gloves a good week prior and it wasn’t the first thing on my mind at the moment. I was just wondering why he was smirking at me and all I could think about was how fucking hot he looked while doing it. I’ll never forget it. I thought maybe he had gotten me a gift or something and was stretching out the suspense before showing me. I suppose in a way it was a gift after all.

So anyway, he slowly (he was really setting out to make this interesting) opened the large top drawer in the ornate wooden dresser that he has in his bedroom and glanced over at me. That damned smirk never left his beautiful face and I love him even more for it. The drawer was lined in red velvet and was just…. _teeming_ with leather gloves. Teeming. Not in a messy way, either. Each pair was clean, laid out, and flattened with the utmost care. There must have been at least ten pairs of gloves in there. And they weren’t all the same type either, each one was unique.

That’s where the _real_ sexy part comes in.

Iggy’s little secret is that he uses his gloves as a sort of subtle messaging device. Ha, I can feel my face burning up even as I tell you this – it’s just so hot – but each pair stands for a certain activity. _Sexual_ ones. He even had them arranged in terms of, oh I don’t know, intensity. From left to right, the top row of gloves denoted vanilla sex acts like blow jobs, hand jobs…he’s got one for massages, another for shower sex, and so on and so forth... and then as you move down the line, the messages become dirtier and more, well, bdsm-related. Yeah. Iggy and I are into that stuff. Big time.

One of my favorites is his “you’re in for a spanking” pair. They’re a really deep burgundy color - a real classy shade of red - and the leather is somewhat shiny and crisp. Kind of stiff, yanno? When he has them on and cracks his hand off your ass, you _really_ feel it. Makes a nice popping sound too. Sometimes I’ll say something kind of coarse or otherwise get up to no good and later that evening or the next day he’ll show up wearing them. He won’t say a word at first - the gloves speak millions. Whenever I see them my heart jumps into my throat and I become excited and worried at the same time. I’ll then sometimes find myself unconsciously palming my ass and cock in anticipation. I never would have thought that utilizing symbols in lieu of words would be sexy, but _it so fucking is_.

Speaking of those particular gloves, I have a little story from late last week. I was in a general bad mood one day and acted kind of gruff around Iggy. I apologized that night but the next morning he showed up to my apartment with coffees and fruit for breakfast and I looked down at them as he walked in and almost did a friggin’ back flip when I saw that he was wearing those burgundy gloves. My face must’ve screwed up into some regretful expression because he had instantly put on a shit-eating grin as he looked me in the eye and was like “yes, Gladio, we’re going to have a little talk”. A little talk my ass… well okay, my ass was definitely involved. He really went to town.

He of course took me out to a place for brunch about an hour later, purposely choosing a restaurant with the most uncomfortable outdoor seating on the planet. I don’t know what kind of sadist invented those chairs, but they were composed of some sort of metal in a lattice grate style. Uncomfortable as all fuck. I kept fidgeting on them and Iggy was beaming the entire time. I think _he’s_ the one who invented those chairs. I’ve been on my best behavior ever since.

When he’s feeling really cheeky and horny, he’ll don a different glove on each hand. One time about a month ago he showed up to practice wearing his ‘I’m going to top you tonight’ glove on his left hand and his ‘I’m going to tie you up and edge you until you explode’ glove on the right. I could barely pay attention the whole sparring session. I told you he’s a sadist. Made for a memorable night, though. I’ve probably since jerked off about eleven times to the thought of it. Maybe twelve.

I was dicking around so much that I hadn’t noticed that I was going to be late for our meeting. I thought about catching a cab but it was slim pickings on Sunday, so I decided to hoof it. Luckily the place wasn’t too far from where I was. I started running. Just a little further… I felt my nerves relax once those bastard metal chairs popped into view. Ah, and there was Iggy, sitting primly on one of them. I couldn’t tell what gloves he had on yet until I got closer. I soon saw that he had on the plain black semi-sheen ones. The “I want a blow job tonight” gloves. He looked calm when I jogged up. I assumed that he hadn’t noticed my tardiness. I sighed in relief.

“Gladio, good morning. You’re late.”

“Morning, Iggy! Oh, am I?” I fake-scrambled for my phone to fake-look at the time. “Just by a couple of minutes. I was finishing up an errand.” I jammed the phone back into my pants pocket and sat down. I quickly changed the subject to the weather. It didn’t work. Once Iggy was focused on something, his attention was laser keen.

“More like 15, but 25 if you include the time I waited on top of that since I arrived respectfully early. I would have my clock checked for accuracy if I were you.”

And just like that, Iggy started to pull one of his gloves off. He laid it upon the table. The waiter came immediately afterward, and I sat in suspense while Iggy casually ordered his lemon water and a round of herb and cheese scones for us. I was so enthralled that I almost forgot to answer the man when he had asked me what I wanted for a drink. I blurted something out – coffee, I think – and continued to sit and stare at Iggy’s bare hand and the vacant glove sitting upon the table. When the waiter walked off, Iggy shot me a salacious grin and slipped his hand into one of his pants pockets and pulled something out. Another glove? Oh crap. Yep. I was official in trouble. It was one of the burgundy ones. I didn’t know he travelled with the things. I almost laughed.

“I had a feeling you were going to do something to earn yourself a punishment today. I just didn’t think it was going to be this soon. But here we are.”

I swear my face turned the same color as that damned glove. I also had to will away my impending erection. I involuntarily became aroused when he scolded me. “I’m sorry, Igs, I got distracted by these amazing peppers I just found.” I waved a paper bag containing several varieties of hot peppers that I had purchased at a stand that morning. I waved it as tantalizingly as possible “I got them for you. I thought you could use ‘em in a recipe or something.” I was trying to get out of it, I know. He knew it too.

“That’s very kind of you, and I am very interested, but you’re not going to talk your way out of this one.”

He took the bag, opened it, and peered inside. “Besides, I can tell by the wear on the top of the bag that you’ve been holding it in your hand for at least an hour, probably longer.”

Crap. Him and his sense of observation. I looked down at the table, not knowing what to say. It would all sound like the bullshit that it is anyway. I knew I shouldn’t have tried to pull a fast one on Iggy. It _never_ works.

He drew a long skinny red pepper out of the bag. “Oh, Tenenbrae peppers. I’ve been wanting to get my hands on some of these. They’ll be perfect for a curry I’ve been wanting to make. Thank you!” He looked up at me with eyes full of love. It made me feel good; helped ease some of the guilt. He then leaned toward me really close and whispered. “But I’m still going to turn your ass three hues of red.”

Damn! That was the zinger. Iggy was full of ‘em. I loved him for it, though. He always kept things interesting with his zingers. I was just glad the waiter came right after that. Kept me from having to respond right away. It’s hard knowing what to say to statements like that. Sometimes I feel an absurd urge to giggle. But shit, how weird would that have been? So, yeah. I was glad for the waiter. He set down our drinks and the scones and asked if we wanted anything else. Iggy answered “no, thank you” and I shook my head when the guy looked over at me. He then took off and I grabbed one of the scones to fill my mouth with so I wouldn’t have to speak. I was still embarrassed. Iggy didn’t take offense, however. He knew how I was.

“Do you know what else I can make with these peppers?”

That grin was back, the extra cheeky shit-eating one. This man, I swear to the Astrals, was always up to something. And he called _me_ the naughty one. I beg to differ sometimes. So anyway, I shouldn’t really say shit about that since I’m not the Dom, but there he was with that shit-eating grin and was just… waiting for me to answer his question. As if I’d magically know anyway. I unfortunately hadn’t been bestowed with mind-reading capabilities nor had I been brushing up on chili pepper recipes lately, so I said “No, what?” I knew he was up to no good though, so I suspiciously waited for his answer, which I knew was prooobably going to benefit himself more than me.

“The ingredient that causes the heat is called capsaicin…” he began.

I knew that part already, so I nodded.

He casually took a small bite of his scone and continued. “I could infuse a certain amount of the capsaicin into some oil and use it…”

He paused to grin at me again. Oh Astrals. The waiter returned to ask us if we wanted any drink refills. We didn’t. He left. I swear Iggy then waited a full minute before continuing. That was another of his tricks, always making me wait during suspenseful moments. It was one of his _special skills_. It worked against my natural impatience. I tried not to squirm in my seat. Luckily my ass was free of soreness this time and the seats weren’t as bad, albeit hard.

At last he spoke, leaning in again and lowering his voice so no one else could hear.

“I could use the oil as a new punishment tool for you.”

I remember making a face. He ignored it.

“I’d apply it to your freshly spanked ass cheeks. Really light those suckers on fire.”

I nearly laughed at his unusual choice of slang, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment. Instead I joked about how I was now regretting my decision to stop at the pepper stand, and that it figured he’d use my good deed against me somehow. I couldn’t help but to chuckle after that. I half-assed acted like it was something that I’d dislike but I actually found his idea to be _very_ intriguing. Speaking of suckers, I am a total sucker for sensation play. I love to feel the burn. A wave of arousal pulsed through my core.

Instead of replying to my comments, Iggy just sat there sipping his water and eyeing me. He is such a sadist. My love for him knows no bounds. He then got the waiter’s attention and asked for the check. We booked it outta there shortly after. As we walked, I asked him what he wanted to do next. Iggy loved being in control and most of the time I let him have full reign. No questions asked. It was nice being able to relax and not think about plans. I do that enough with work. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Igs does too and I’ve even tried to get him to chill and let me do some of the planning for our times together but he was insistent, and so I said something like ‘okay whatever you want, Iggy’ and he replied with ‘indeed’ and so we’ve been doing it like that for a few months now. I don’t mind it. In fact, I like it. It turns me on.

He told me that he had some things to do but asked if I could meet him back at his apartment for dinner. There he was with that waiting crap again. Mr. “Guess-what-I’m-gonna-spank-the-fuck-out-of-your-ass-buuuuut-not-until-six-hours-from-now-so-you’ll-have-pleny-of-time-to-fully-soak-in-the-apprehension” Scientia. Gotta love him for it though. He also ordered me to not touch myself at all. No fondling or masturbating. Oof. By the time I got to his place I could probably use my dick as a third leg. Iggy’ll mistake me for a tripod.

I went back to my apartment and sat around for five hours. I couldn’t get the damned burgundy glove and the things he had told me out of my head. My dick must’ve cycled through hard and soft phases at least ten times. I palmed my ass like a madman. I almost snuck into my bathroom to rub one out but I was afraid he’d somehow know, like the minute I grabbed my pole he’d just pop out from behind the shower curtain or a miniaturized version of him would hop out of the medicine cabinet just to reprimand me. I knew these things wouldn’t happen (I had checked behind the shower curtain and he wasn’t there) but I still felt awkward and didn’t bother. I knew that he’d just magically _know_ somehow. Probably from merely looking at my face. I never did lie or hide guilt all that well.

At around seven I let myself into Iggy’s apartment with the key he had supplied me a few months ago. It came as no surprise that he was in the kitchen so I waltzed right in and he greeted me amiably. The whole place was enveloped in the scent of exotic spices. It was nice. I felt as if I had been suddenly transported to a foreign land. He was donning the burgundy gloves on both hands. I remember eye-fucking them as I walked into the kitchen. I returned his greeting and asked if he was already making good use of the peppers. To be honest, I was kind of shocked that he was using them so soon. He told me about how he had gone to pick up some shirts from the dry cleaners after we had parted ways earlier in the day and ended up coming right back here to start on the food. That’s dedication. He then asked me if I wanted a taste. You can bet your ass I didn’t pass up that offer.

He was standing in front of the stove, his favorite wooden spoon dipped into a large saucepan filled with a brownish-red curry. He was stirring it methodically as I drew near. When I got close enough he removed the spoon and held it out so I could take a sample. I leaned in and tentatively pressed my lips to the spoon. I wasn’t sure how hot it was going to be so I was erring on the side of caution. Once it hit my tongue, however, a wondrous burst of flavors bloomed in my mouth. Gotta hand it to Igs, he was good at everything he put that beautiful mind to. _Everything_. My whole face lit up and I praised him up and down; the sauce was just _that_ good. You’d do the same if you had tasted it too.

Iggy is a bit of a humble guy so he kind of turned his head away but I was still able to spy a trace of a blush upon his cheeks. Just a hint. The man possesses so much self control that even his involuntary bodily reactions say _yes sir, we will moderate that sir, anything you say_. I almost laughed aloud at that thought but I didn’t feel like having to explain it to him after so I held it in. Things were already bad enough for me as is. Speaking of which…

“I’ll have you know that I also had time to concoct my special hot oil as well. I tested it on myself in a small area and the level of burning will be safe.  Would you be open the idea of me trying it on you tonight?”

That mild sense of trepidation returned. One thing Iggy didn’t know, though, was that I was no stranger to those hot pepper heat lotions and balms. They are used extensively for sports injuries. I would rub them on my knees and ankles after sparring matches and hunts sometimes. The burning sensation lasts for hours. I’ve just… never applied the gunk to my butt before. I was actually sort of surprised that I haven’t done so before. Yanno, for kicks. The more I stood there imagining what it’ll be like the more I wanted it. I wish he’d rub the stuff on my ass before and then again after my spanking. I’m a wild child. I told him sure and that I think it would be an interesting thing to add into our play. He replied with something like “oh, it’ll definitely be interesting”, emphasizing the word interesting. Heh.

Once I had given him the go ahead, Iggy smirked like a daemon that had just busted up to the surface of Eos from the fucking underworld and turned back to his stirring. His sadism really cracks me up sometimes. We truly match though. He loves dishing it, I love taking it. I sat down and flipped through a travel magazine that was laying on the kitchen table. I couldn’t really concentrate on it since my thoughts kept going back to what Iggy had in store for me later. My dick started to rise again, achingly so. I wanted to unzip my pants, take it out, and jerk off right fucking there under his kitchen table. I was almost tempted to do so just for the hell of it, but I didn’t want to disappoint him. I was under a ‘no-masturbation order’ after all. I didn’t want to be disrespectful.

Still, the thought of it was electrifying. My dick got harder. I went back to the travel magazine and tried to will it down. The damned thing wouldn’t go down. So I said fuck it and sat there with my dick hard in my pants, trying to read some magazine I didn’t care about and thinking about Iggy reddening my ass with those sexy stiff gloves on and rubbing hot pepper juice on my sore ass afterward. Fuck, I wanted to cum right there in my pants.

I think some sort of weird noise flew out of my mouth against my will and Iggy turned around and asked me if I was alright. I tried to hide my erection by pushing my chair in more but I think he spotted it. I told him it was nothing and he turned back to his pot and started adding some spices with a strange smirk on his face. Dammit. I had given him more fuel to fuck with me. I bet the next time I turned my head to look at him he’ll have one spank glove on and one edging glove on.

Once satisfied with the spiciness of his edible concoction, Iggy dialed the heat on the stove to the lowest setting, lidded the pan, and told me to follow him into the living room. A slight sweat broke out upon my body as I knew it was all lights camera action from this point forward. I got up and followed him. He pointed at a firm reading chair, burgundy index finger rigid with authority and control. I sat without a word and took a moment to quickly adjust my cock. Fuck, it was so hard.

Iggy seated himself on a nearby couch and began to give me _the Ignis Scientia lecture on the virtues of timekeeping and_ _truthfulness_. I’ll be honest, it’s the second time in the course of our relationship that he’s had to do it. My mind was racing with visuals of what was going to come after, but I tried to pay attention. I didn’t know if I was going to be quizzed on it after or not. Fuck, I had almost laughed out loud again. I need to stop doing that.

“Are you paying attention, _Gladiolus_?”

The full name. That’s how you know Iggy means business when he busts out the full name. “Yeah. Mostly. I’m sorry, I just… my mind is going, my heart is going, my _dick_ is going. I’m jumping outta my skin here.”

“Would it help your concentration if I were to apply some of my magical brew before we continued?” He grabbed the bottle of oil that he had previously set upon the coffee table and shook it tauntingly. His eyes shined with mischief.

I didn’t know what to say so I think I just blurted out something like “that’s a trick question” or some other crap answer and Iggy then stood up and gestured for me to do the same. I did so, and he sat in my place. My face was flushing with humiliation even though we hadn’t even started yet. He looked up at me, chuckled, and then looked down at my pants. He told me that they would have to be removed and set aside. Not wanting to argue with him, I slowly unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped, and pulled my pants down, and pulled them off my feet and placed them on the reading chair. My hard-on pressed noticeably against my underwear. Even though Iggy has seen me in this state many times before, it was still somewhat embarrassing given the circumstance. I glanced over at him.

He gazed back at me, cool as a cucumber and was like: “Well, I see that you have more than likely obeyed my no-touching order. Good.” He then went and just… brushed my cock with his gloved hand. Just went ahead and fondled the thing. Oh yeah, _that’ll_ make things easier, Ig, c’mon! I bucked and a moan coasted out of my mouth. I couldn’t even help it. I was so keyed up, I started to hope that he’d keep doing it so I would just cum in my shorts and get it over with. I could blame it on him. I was so ready to burst. Even the fabric of my underwear was rubbing against my head in a provocative way. I swear everything was working against me.

Iggy decided to continue to torment my poor cock. He grabbed it through my shorts and gave it a good squeeze. I let out a groan and looked over at him with pleading eyes. I begged a little bit at that point; I didn’t care about my ego anymore. “Igs, please. I’m so close. I’ve been hard on and off for the past six hours. I can’t take this… at least let me cum if you’re gonna keep teasing me like this.”

“No. I haven’t given you permission yet.”

He fondled me again. I let out a desperate-sounding groan and he grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me over his lap. My cock pressed deliciously into his thigh. An insatiable urge to hump his leg washed over me, but I refrained. I think I would end up erupting all over the place within a minute and then I’d be in big trouble I guess. Instead, I remained as still as possible. Iggy grabbed the waist band of my shorts and yanked them up. The material tightened around my cheeks and balls and pushed firmly into my ass crack. Iggy knows I love getting wedgies. I was just hoping he’d hold off right now because they turn me on and I’m honestly just trying to not orgasm at this point. But no, the man’s a certified sadist.

“Ahh, I’m trying _not_ to cum here!”

“Do I have to gag you as well?”

He didn’t skip a beat. That was another thing that I loved about him. How he just knows what to say whenever, where ever. It’s so damned hot. I started to squirm a bit. He turns me on so fucking much.

“I… no.”

“Good. Now hold still. I don’t want you springing a leak on my leg.”

A leak. Yeah, more like a water main break. Still, I complied. Iggy yanked my underwear up a little higher. The tautness was uncomfortable but stimulating. I tried not to squirm or say anything. Suddenly he rose his free palm and let it fall smartly upon one of my ass cheeks. The sound it made was somewhat muffled due to my shorts, but sounded nice nonetheless. He repeated the same to my other cheek, and then dove right into a steady tempo of alternating spanks. I wanted to moan because at this early stage it felt very erotic, and well, I was currently turned on like none other. I refrained however; I didn’t want Iggy to think I was enjoying this _too_ much. But honestly at this point, I was.

Once Iggy got into his rhythm, he was unfaltering and even. A fresh blow landed every second or so, and I quickly felt the heat building up. He didn’t even let me keep my shorts on for very long. He soon ordered me up and told me to remove them. It’s always embarrassing when they make _you_ do it. You see all those people in those otk spanking videos who are like “noo” and grasp at their underwear, trying in vain to keep a hold on their last shred of modesty when the top starts to yank them down, but no, trust me, it’s a hellova lot worse when they make you stand and then they look you in the eye and point blank order you to remove them. Even worse if they make you fold them and set them down somewhere all neatly. Luckily that time, Iggy just simply commanded me to take them off. I left them in a heap on the floor and lowered myself back over his lap.

I like being draped over Iggy’s lap. It’s comforting and familiar. Of course, at first, I’ll feel that old bit of apprehension, but once I get settled in I’m like ahhhhhh this is great. I’ll feel like I’m at home. I also like it because if I’m feeling somewhat embarrassed or humiliated from being punished I can sorta hide my face away. That’s always a plus. So anyway, I was back over his lap and my ass is jutting up into the air. Iggy’s taking it all in, I’m sure. He loves my ass. Can’t get enough of it. He’s an ass man all the way. Big time. That’s reason number 600 as to why I’m in love with him.

I'm laying there and Iggy decided to tease me by running one of his gloved hands over my ass. All slow and tantalizingly. He really likes to draw things out. Being a bonafide sadist, he loves to watch me squirm and beg. I don’t mind hamming it up for him sometimes, though. We help each other out, yanno? It’s all part of the give and take in a normal healthy (and kinky as all get out) relationship. I love being with Iggy. He’s the best.

So there he was, tantalizingly caressing my butt with his sexy gloves. I loved how it felt. The leather was stiff but very sleek and smooth. It almost feels kind of like vinyl but I know Iggy is very particular about his gloves and would never purchase a pair in a cheap synthetic material like that. That pair doesn’t feel as sensual as some of his others, though, but they’re great for ass play. He has some that are made of a much softer leather; they almost feel like velvet when being brushed against your skin. Sometimes he uses a pair of those soft ones to tease my cock with. If he were to do that now I guarantee you I wouldn’t last worth of shit.

“I know I said I was going to wait until after your spanking to apply the hot oil, but I’m eager to try it now. It should last a good while, so it’ll be fine.”

I stiffened a bit. My whole body, I mean. Obviously, my dick was already there, heh heh. Anyway, I stiffened for just a split second and then relaxed again. I was interested in how this was going to feel after all, but I was a bit hesitant as well. How much was it going to burn? Iggy _did_ say he tested it on himself and reported it to be safe. I wish I had been there to see that! He probably put it somewhere uninteresting though, like the inside of his elbow or something. I wondered how much he enjoyed it, if at all.

“How did it feel? Where did you apply it?”

“I rubbed a small amount into the crook of my elbow. I didn’t particularly relish in the sensation, but it wasn’t completely intolerable either.”

Ha, I knew it. Yet another thing I love about Iggy is his predictability. I love that shit. I don’t want a partner who doesn’t know their ass from their elbow, or my ass from my elbow even. Or worse, will leave the second things start becoming settled or when a disagreement occurs. I want someone who is basically a rock. Stable yet patient. That type of person works best with my personality, which can be a bit on the coarse side now and then. I don’t mean anything by it most of the time, I just feel things intensely, that’s all. Iggy is my rock. I want to be able to be me and not worry about him leaving or going crazy. If I’m a pain in the ass he just gives me a pain in _my_ ass. It’s a worthy trade-off.

I turned my head and I saw Igs grab the bottle of oil. He had removed one of his gloves. He then pulled the bottle out of my line of sight, but I heard it clicking open. I suddenly felt a cool liquid trickle pouring onto one of my ass cheeks. He then gave me a wonderful butt massage with his bare hand and I was just laying there like ahhh, this is the life. I didn’t feel the oil burning at all. I wondered if maybe my ass was immune to it. He repeated the process to the other cheek and then pulled his hand away. He was probably wiping it off and putting his glove back on. I wish he’d kept rubbing my ass. It felt so good.

A minute elapsed and I still didn’t feel anything. I asked him how long it should take (because I was still doubting that it would even have an effect at all) and he replied that I should start to feel it any minute now. And then of course he’s like ‘here, I’ll help it along’ and started to spank my ass again. Harder this time. I hung my head back down so he couldn’t see me blushing, and the force of the impacts shoved my dick out from the constriction of his thigh and it was now hanging between his legs. Dangling and bopping around. It was probably flinging precum all over the damned place, too. Fuck, I wanted to cum. Suddenly, I _could_ feel something brewing on my skin. It was a bit hard to discern from Iggy’s spanks, as those burned badly too, but no, there was definitely something else in the works as well. It came on quickly. I squirmed and shook my ass around.

As the heat increased, I remember stating that I had learned my lesson and wiggled my ass around some more to accentuate that I was beginning to feel the effects of being punished. It came to no surprise that Iggy didn’t agree with me. He busted out one of my favorite lines: “I think not. I’ll be the judge of that.” Unf. I love that one. But holy crap my ass was on fire. To be absolutely honest with you, though, it felt equally unpleasant and enjoyable. Iggy wasn’t kidding when he said that it was going to be interesting.

Fuck yes, it was interesting, alright. Actually, calling it that was kind of an understatement. _Amazing_ might’ve been a more suitable term. As I became more used to it I wanted to cum. Right Then and There. I exasperatedly told Igs that my ass was burning like Ifrit’s balls – ha – but he calmly but firmly said “Good. Maybe next time I ask you to meet me somewhere, you will be on time.” He really emphasized the word time with a heavy layer of cynicism. And he laid down a mega thwack that made me jump.

Iggy was never one to go light. He maintained his volley of well-timed spanks for what felt like forever. The sting and burning were really mounting up. I started to promise him that I’d never be late again, that the next fifty breakfasts at that café would be on me, that I’d shine his fucking shoes every morning, that I’d buy him a pocket watch (he expressed a fleeting interest in one seven months ago), and that I’d suck his dick every day at one o’cock for the next eighteen years –anything, anything! I know he didn’t believe me, hell even _I_ didn’t believe myself, but those seemed like good things to say in the heat of the moment. Iggy appreciates my sense of humor. He showed his appreciation that time by spanking me even harder.

Eventually, we got to the point where things weren’t funny anymore and I started to seriously feel regret and guilt for my actions. Yes, it takes a while, but it _does_ happen, trust me. I started to beg, and my mettle decreased to the point where I was just laying across his lap like a limp sack of potatoes. At that point Iggy knew that I was _truly sorry_ and he started to lay off. He’ll know if I’m faking it too. I tried that once. Never again. I couldn’t sit comfortably for five days after that one. I mean, like all good kinksters, we of course have a safe word in place in case things get too heavy, but I’ve never had to call it. Igs knows where my limitations lie. Sometimes he'll come close to them during a punishment session but he can read me like a book and he always makes sure to not go too far. I love him so much. I would die for this man. I would truly just hurtle myself off a fucking cliff for him. He's too good to me.

So I was laying there, feeling very fucking sorry and very fucking sore and Iggy at last stopped and asked me if I was going to behave. I answered him with a resounding (if not a bit whimpery-sounding) affirmation and he let me up. My cock had gone down a bit but I already felt it starting to rise again. I went to reach around to give my ass a good rub but Iggy stopped me and told me “no rubbing” in that silky smooth voice of his and ordered me to put my shorts and pants back on because dinner was ready. I nearly balked at that, having decided that I had been through a lot and deserved at least a rub, but I also decided it wasn’t worth the risk of immediately going back over his knee so I obeyed and followed him into the kitchen.

I entered right as I saw him yanking the cushion off of my chair, leaving behind a barren, rigid, sadistic wooden seat to sit on. Thanks Igs. Love you. I wondered how long he had that planned for. I imagined him laying in bed at night scheming with that shit-eating grin planted on his face. Love you babe. I refrained from dishing out any of my usual sarcastic commentary (that alone has gotten me into trouble on many occasions so I didn’t want to push it) and gingerly sat down to dinner. Damn that chair. My ass was on literal fire and I didn’t even get a cushion (or a bucket of ice) to set my burning cheeks upon. That oil was still going to town. My cock twitched achingly in my pants.

Iggy was back over by the pot, ladling out two servings of his curry beef. He set my plate down in front of me and then went to sit. On his wonderfully cushioned chair, I might add. He let out a small happy sigh. Would ya get a load of this guy? He was content as all get out. He loves being a sadist. I bet his cock was hard too. I resisted the urge to spring up and check. Instead I thanked him for the meal and apologized again for my ‘behavioral oversight’. I made it sound all official like that for effect. He told me that’s it’s “quite alright” and not to worry. That’s one of the things I love about my punishments: once they’re over we’re back to a clean slate. Guilt abolished. I sometimes beat myself over feelings of guilt, so this dynamic works really well for me. Igs loves it too, I can tell. He gets to take out his frustrations on my ass and we both end up happy. Like pigs in shit. I mean if you could’ve seen the guy, he was over there practically beaming. I just wanted to kiss his face.

I turned my attentions to the food. Iggy’s _remarkable_ , _incredible_ , _perfect_ recipe. The beef was tender and juicy and the curry sauce—wow…. Let me just talk about that for a minute. Igs really worked his magic with this sauce, let me fuckin tell you. It had flavors upon flavors. I can’t even begin to describe the depth of all the different essences that I was able to pick out. One thing really stood out though: the heat. That sauce was smokin’ hot. I had only eaten two spoonfuls and my tongue and lips were already burning up. I felt tears pricking at my eyes. I commented on how much I liked it, though, and Igs just sat there and smiled at me. His eyes were smiling too. When I begrudgingly finished, he got up and served me a second helping. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing. I suppose I had set myself up for all of this by getting him those damned peppers in the first place. I set the wheels in motion. I wanted to laugh at the irony of it but instead I was dabbing tears from my eyes.

We had a pretty good night after that. I ended up giving Igs one of my best blowjobs. I kneeled on my haunches in front of him and really took my time. I had him writhing and almost begging toward the end. It takes quite a feat to get a guy like Iggy to beg. He’s a fucking walking billboard of self control. But I almost got him there. I could see him begging on the _inside_ , though, and that was good enough for me. He blew his load all over my face and told me I was a good boy. I know it sounds cheesy as hell, but I love when he praises me like that. My cock was rock hard the entire time I was sucking him off and I almost came when he praised me. Fuck.

He _finally_ let me orgasm a short time after that. He slipped on his hand job gloves (the dark brown butter soft ones with little holes in the knuckles) and gave me a glorious handy while groping the fuck out of my sore ass. The leather felt _so_ good. It didn’t take long before I exploded into his hand. I got cum all over the glove but he didn’t mind. In fact, I watched as his dick started to harden again. Iggy loves cum. He loves to cum all over me and loves to watch me cum all over things, especially his gloves. He’ll have them cleaned afterward but in the heat of the moment it’s a very sexy thing to observe. There's not one part of my body that he hasn't ejaculated onto.

The next day we once again got together for breakfast. Of course he requested that I meet him at that same café with the evil chairs. I arrived on time though, in fact I was a few minutes early. I wanted to behave for Igs that day. I love the looks he gives me when he’s proud. Most of the time he doesn’t even have to bother talking. I can just read him by looking at his gorgeous face. It’s one of my favorite pastimes. So anyway, I sat down with him and we ordered some coffees and a frittata. Igs recommended their asparagus and salmon frittata and of course I went along with it because I was eager to please him. Plus I knew I could trust his decision. I always can. With _anything_. The chairs were uncomfortable like usual but I didn’t mind. I was so in love with the man sitting before me that the pain was just a part of that and I loved it as much as I loved him.

So yeah, that just about concludes my little story explaining how Iggy and I started integrating his glove collection into our sex life. There’s just one more little teeny part that happened tonight, but it’s extremely relevant so I might as well tell ya. He had sent me a text asking me if I’d like to meet him over at his apartment for dinner. I’m always thrilled to see him, so I said sure and headed right over. When I got there he was in the kitchen and called me in. He was putting a casserole into the oven as I strolled in. Something vibrantly colorful caught my eyes and I looked down. His gloves. They were a pair I’d never seen him wear before. They were bright red, like…  oh fuck, they were chili pepper fucking red! Iggy casually glanced over at me and grinned. That shit-eating grin. Oh, _he knew what he was doing_ _alright_.


End file.
